To devote oneself to vigilance when the enemy is an imaginary one is idle, and to congratulate oneself for looking long and well for a foe that is not coming is foolish and sinful. My life has been a waste.

Living, we fret. Dying, we live. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be of good cheer.

Men of great spirit are at high risk at a time when small souls rule the world.

It was like that all the time, in those years: an endless trip, a gaudy voyage. But powers decay. Time leaches the colors from the best of visions. The world becomes grayer. Entropy beats us down. Everything fades. Everything goes. Everything dies.

To devote oneself to vigilance when the enemy is an imaginary one is idle, and to congratulate oneself for looking long and well for a foe that is not coming is foolish and sinful. My life has been a waste.

When you know that something is dying inside you, you learn not to put much trust in the random vitalities of the fleeting moment.

I find the world and all it contains extremely fascinating. Is this sinful?